


contraband

by Aleph_Null



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot, Porn Without Plot, Smut, Teasing, Trans Carlos, appearance changing cecil, illegal writing utensils, unabashed smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:16:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8455060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aleph_Null/pseuds/Aleph_Null
Summary: “They’re only pens, Ceec,” Carlos said, trying hard to telegraph nonchalance with the sinking feeling that he had failed miserably.

	“Only pens?” Cecil hissed, pulling the zipper closed, then opening it again to peer inside at the myriad writing tools.  “Don’t you know what could happen to you if the Sheriff's Secret Police knew we had these?”  His voice, in spite of his apparent efforts to control it, rose to the high pitch of panic as he hurriedly lifted a cushion of the chair, presumably to check for hidden microphones or cameras.  “You… you could be locked up!  You should be locked up!”





	

**Author's Note:**

> pens are so illegal omg
> 
> credit for the idea to [PageofD](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PageofD/pseuds/PageofD) because he is an excellent muse and sounding board

“Carlooooooos…”

It was scientifically fascinating to note, in the back of his mind, that he could both sigh in exasperation and, at the same time, form a goofy, affectionate grin with his lips, that, in fact, these two emotions could overlap and coexist and not contradict each other at all. “Yes, bunny,” Carlos called back to Cecil, his grin widening as he adjusted the magnification on his microscope, set up in his little makeshift lab on the kitchen table (at least until dinner time, when the Ehrlenmeyer flasks containing bubbling liquids over bunsen burners would be replaced by Ehrlenmeyer flasks containing sparkling wine set on coasters). He particularly enjoyed this aspect of casual romantic cohabitation; since he created his own hours, he could always pull away from the lab when Cecil came out of the radio station, but it was important to keep their own interests. In respect to that idea, Cecil had proposed that they take some time to themselves between work and dinner, during which he usually composed his editorials and reviewed ad copy and Carlos tended to continue whatever small research projects he could bring home from the lab, the ones that weren’t time sensitive/perishable/radioactive. It was a system that worked, and after three years of the healthiest relationship he’d ever experienced, Carlos wasn’t about to complain. Besides, _Science_. 

“Don’t you know how dangerous this is?” said Cecil’s voice from just behind him. Carlos glanced over his shoulder and saw his boyfriend holding something; he put up a finger, asking for just a moment, and carefully nudged the slide off of the microscope’s platform, carefully maneuvering it into a slide case for later perusal. He carefully marked down the date, time and the last of his observations in his composition notebook with a piece of uncooked spaghetti dipped in cold tomato sauce (later to become part of dinner) and set the notebook aside to dry before finally turning sideways to face Cecil, one arm propped on the back of his chair. 

He was holding a pencil case, the zipper pulled down only slightly, just enough to glimpse what lay within. 

Carlos felt his ears and neck heating up, his emotions - shame, embarrassment, a touch of excitement at being found out - triggering the adrenal system and directing blood to his face to signal his discomfort to others in his social group - which, at this moment, amounted to Cecil and no one else. _Of course_. He didn’t know why Cecil had been looking in the little tucked away corners of their bedroom, the liminal spaces between the bed and nightstand where who knew what lurked (Cecil probably did), but he had been. 

“They’re only pens, Ceec,” Carlos said, trying hard to telegraph nonchalance with the sinking feeling that he had failed miserably. 

“ _Only pens?_ ” Cecil hissed, pulling the zipper closed, then opening it again to peer inside at the myriad writing tools. “Don’t you know what could happen to you if the Sheriff's Secret Police knew we had these?” His voice, in spite of his apparent efforts to control it, rose to the high pitch of panic as he hurriedly lifted a cushion of the chair, presumably to check for hidden microphones or cameras. “You… you could be locked up! You _should_ be locked up!” 

Carlos didn’t take that last statement personally. While he had grown up well outside of Night Vale, he could intellectually appreciate Cecil’s fear of - well, everything. The Secret Police, with eyes and ears everywhere; Vague, Yet Menacing, Government Agencies, with fingers in every pie; helicopters in the sky and a Faceless Old Woman who would be an ideal informant to any of the above - it was no wonder he looked so panicked, and entirely understandable, in the circumstances under which he had been raised. 

Still, he’d had a long day, and though Science was his first love, Cecil was his current and enduring. And while that meant he didn’t want to cause his boyfriend any undue stress, it didn’t mean he couldn’t have… a little fun with his neuroses. 

“ _I_ should be locked up?” Carlos said, giving him the little half smile he knew went straight to Cecil’s animal brain. “What have _I_ done? _You’re_ the one holding the contraband,” he pointed out, standing slowly. His lab coat fanned out behind him in exactly the way he had calculated to induce maximum swooning, and he was not disappointed. Cecil stared at him, mouth agape, as he stepped closer. “It seems to me that you are the one in possession of illegal writing utensils,” he breathed against Cecil’s chin, tipping his face upward. “ _You_ should be locked up.” 

A small sound escaped Cecil’s throat as Carlos closed the gap between them, the canvas bag full of colorful pens dropping to the ground with a clatter as they scattered over the floor. Always a Scientist, he used his momentum to his advantage, pressing against Cecil until he was backed against the wall, angling precisely to mate their bodies in the most advantageous way to his motive. He dug his fingers into Cecil’s hair, coarse and thick today, and pulled his face in for a kiss. 

“Carlos,” Cecil murmured, his breath ghosting across Carlos’s lips as they broke apart. “I don’t think you under-” 

“I understand,” Carlos said, his hands drifting down, touching fleetingly at temple, brow, cheekbone, lip. “I understand perfectly.” Chin, ear, skating over the delicate skin behind. “You have admirably come here today to turn yourself in - I understand.” His fingers flitted under the collar of Cecil’s shirt, just for a moment, before resuming their trajectories, soothing the wrinkles in the fabric over his shoulders, sliding over the smooth skin below. “ _You_ understand the consequences of possessing writing utensils, I’m sure?” he breathed, his hands trailing down until they met Cecil’s, twining their fingers together. 

“Carlos?” 

“They are quite severe,” he continued, slowly raising their hands until they were on a level with Cecil’s head, pressing back into the wall with only a little force. “Color?” 

“I - _Carlos_ -” Cecil swallowed hard, his breath suddenly coming faster. “Green.” 

A slick grin crossed Carlos’s face even as a pulse of heat touched his core. “Excellent. You understand, I’m sure, why you’re here.” His fingers tightened as he pressed his body a little closer, a little harder, all the while raising Cecil’s arms until they were well over his head. “Possession of illegal writing utensils,” Carlos said, clicking his tongue. “What would your mother say?” 

“I - I don’t know what she would say,” Cecil said breathlessly, “but I would say, _they’re not mine_.” 

“And you’re holding them for a friend, of course,” said Carlos with a smirk. He took both of Cecil’s wrists in his right hand, his left trailing down to grip the gaudy tie his boyfriend had yet to shed from his day at work. “I’m sure you’re aware there are leniency policies in place for informants.” He thrust his hips forward, pleased to find evidence of Cecil’s arousal, not to mention the low moan it elicited. “Whomever this friend is, I’m sure that they will be better off in our care.” He leaned in, his mouth hovering over the skin just below Cecil’s jaw; Cecil bucked against him, his hands flexing and wrists straining with just enough force to register his distress, but not enough to break the hold on them. 

“I - I would never -” 

“You would,” Carlos said, lips brushing skin. “You would for me.” 

“You can’t -” 

“I think you will find we can be quite persuasive,” Carlos said, lipping the hot skin over his boyfriend’s jugular vein. His questing left hand had reached its destination, the buckle of Cecil’s belt, which it deftly undid and snapped away, its end zipping through the belt loops of Cecil’s trousers. It fell to the floor amid the pens. His hand hovered there, index finger slipping behind the button to tease at the skin there, carefully avoiding exactly what Cecil’s writhing body was straining to make him touch. 

“You know what will make this stop.” Carlos slid the button open, and he couldn’t resist sliding his palm down over the bulge below, just lightly. Whining, Cecil tried to push forward into his touch, but as quickly as he had given it, he withdrew the contact. 

“Carlos,” Cecil said again with a slight whimper, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall. “Please…” 

“Please? Please what?” Carlos asked in his sweetest voice. He took advantage of Cecil’s momentary lack of attention, drawing the zip on his trousers down and letting his slacks fall to pool on the ground around his ankles. There was a sharp intake of breath from his boyfriend, and he let out a pleased little sound to note that Cecil wasn’t wearing underwear today, which certainly made this situation more interesting. 

“Touch me.” The words were barely a whisper, and Carlos grinned, even though he knew it wouldn’t be seen. 

“Now,” he said, tracing his fingers back up the front of Cecil’s body, stumbling over the buttons of his shirt and undoing them one by one. “That could be seen as rewarding bad behavior. And pen possession is one of the worst behaviors, you know.” He flicked the top button open and tugged at that wonderful tie, loosening it enough to expose the hollow between Cecil’s collarbones. “Right up there with thinking about the moon.” His left hand joined his right, and each took separate custody of Cecil’s wrists, drawing them back down to shoulder height. “Or eating toast.” His lips met skin again, just above the knot of Cecil’s tie, his tongue darting out briefly. “So, my dear Voice of Night Vale,” Carlos said in between open mouthed kisses to collarbone, to chest, to fluttering pulse, “who do those pens belong to, if they’re not yours?” 

“I f-found them,” Cecil said, stuttering slightly as Carlos’s tongue traced a wet path up and caught his earlobe gently between his teeth. You had to admire his dedication to the scenario, but that was not the answer Carlos was looking for. 

“Found them,” he breathed in Cecil’s ear, pressing their chests tight together. Heat spiraled lazily from his core, sensitizing his nerves, and he had to swallow a little gasp as Cecil’s fingers tightened around his. It wouldn’t do to break character, not yet. “You just saw some pens lying there and decided to pick them up, is that right? Even knowing how much… _trouble_ it could land you in?” He leaned in a little closer and felt the tip of Cecil’s erection brush the front of his jeans. 

“Well - no, I -” Cecil let out a keening noise and fruitlessly thrust his hips forward. Immediately, Carlos backed away from him, though he didn’t relinquish his hold on Cecil’s hands. “I didn’t see them, I _found_ them -” 

“Where were they?” 

Cecil opened his eyes a little, his gaze unfocussed, and Carlos felt a little thrill, knowing that it was him, was all him, that was the cause of that look. Mouth slightly parted and lips wet and swollen, eyes heavily hooded, a faint blush marking his cheeks. A feeling of power rushed through him, and he had to bite back a moan of his own at just how beautiful his boyfriend was right now. 

“They were - oh, Old Gods -” Cecil cut himself off as Carlos latched on to the skin between neck and shoulder, where any marks could be easily hidden by a shirt collar. He started softly, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting down slightly, his tongue darting over the spot as he increased the pressure incrementally. “They were between our bed and nightstand,” he blurted out, throwing his head back again with an alarming thud against the wall. 

Carlos hummed against his boyfriend’s neck and released the pressure with a smack, leaving behind a sizable bruise. “Our,” he repeated, delighting in the shiver his breath over wet skin elicited. “This would be yours and the scientist’s?” 

“Yes,” Cecil gasped. 

“Which side of the bed? Which night stand?” 

“C-Carlos’s…” 

“So then,” Carlos said, closing the space between their chests again, still keeping his hips back and away from his boyfriend’s, “it stands to reason that those pens belong to the scientist, is that right?” 

Cecil’s eyes flew open, and Carlos knew that, even though this was a completely contrived scenario, Cecil would rather die than turn him over to any sort of government authority. For a moment, his boyfriend’s eyes blazed, but then recognition crept in, realizing at his own pace that he was safe, that neither of them really were in trouble, and that he desperately needed relief. 

“Yes,” Cecil said, barely loud enough to be heard. 

“Good,” Carlos said, and he moved in, capturing Cecil’s lips with his own and loosening his grip on Cecil’s wrists as he slotted their bodies together and lowered their arms completely. Cecil let out a relieved moan, untangling his fingers from Carlos’s and gripping tight at his hips, grinding his cock where it pressed hard against Carlos’s stomach. Carlos let him, touching feather light at his hips, his waist, tracing a path up his chest until he could cradle Cecil’s face between his hands. The kiss was not gentle; Cecil immediately sucked his lower lip between his teeth, nipping and laving it with his tongue. There was a hard click that resonated in his skull as their teeth clashed in the effort to get as close as possible, breath coming hard and fast against Carlos’s cheek as he frantically sought the friction that had been denied him so long. 

“Cecil,” Carlos murmured against his lips as creeping hands slid beneath his lab coat, into the waist of his jeans and clutched at his ass. 

“Mmph,” Cecil responded. His fingers danced around along the waistband of Carlos’s jeans, fumbling at the button in the front, but Carlos brushed his hands away. Some days were better than others when it came to dysphoria and sex; this was an ‘other’ day. 

To cover for his action, he broke their kiss and dropped abruptly to his knees on the hard linoleum, nuzzling into the join of Cecil’s hip and groin, hands dancing over the backs of his thighs as Cecil’s erection bobbed next to his ear. Cecil stilled as Carlos traced over his stretch marks with his tongue, and his hands came to rest lightly on Carlos’s shoulders, fingers tightening with gentle urgency. Glancing up, their eyes met, and the intensity of Cecil’s gaze sent another thrill through him so intense he shivered. 

“Please,” Cecil whispered. 

All thought of continuing his teasing evaporated at that tone, and Carlos relented. He pulled back slightly, parting his lips at the tip of Cecil’s cock and allowing him to push in until he was full of the smell of musk and the taste of desire. Cecil let out a long, low groan as he seated himself in Carlos’s mouth, his hands flailing for a moment on his shoulders before settling on his head, fingers digging into his hair and gripping tightly. 

“Elder Gods, Carlos, you are -” The end of his sentence was lost as Carlos dragged his tongue along the underside of Cecil’s cock, pulling back and creating a comfortable vacuum. A gentle nudge on the back of his head made him move forward, taking Cecil in entirely again, and after that, his boyfriend seemed to lose all control; his hips twitched, and before he knew it, Cecil’s hands were framing his forehead, holding him in place as he thrust shallowly into his mouth. “So beautiful,” he said, brushing a loose curl out of Carlos’s eyes, and whether it was the end of the earlier sentence or a new thought, Carlos didn’t care. He kneaded the flesh of Cecil’s generous ass, goading him, until his pace began to grow frantic. 

“Carlos, I - I can’t -” Carlos hummed in encouragement, pressing against the restraint of Cecil’s hands, letting him thrust deeper, rubbing against the back of his throat. He tried to indicate that it was all right, that Cecil could let go, but his mouth was occupied; as a substitution, he traced his finger down along Cecil’s crack, contorting his arm to massage at the spot behind his balls. There was a soft gasp above him as Cecil practically vibrated with sensation, and then, with a low moan, he buried himself completely in Carlos’s mouth, a hot spill sliding easily down his throat. Carlos swallowed it as it came, if not eagerly then as enthusiastically as he could, his tongue dancing delicately around Cecil’s cock as much as space would allow. After an eternal moment, Cecil pulled his mouth away and slid down the wall to sit, bare assed, on the linoleum, tugging him back to cradle him against his chest. His heart was racing, his breath coming fast, and though it was hardly the most stable of resting places, Carlos couldn’t think of a more comfortable place to be. His body thrummed with warm satisfaction, that he could still make his boyfriend feel this way, make his body have these physiological reactions, and that the lead up to that result was so much fun was just an added bonus. 

“You,” Cecil murmured against his hair, his arms wrapped snugly around him. 

“No, you,” Carlos said, grinning against Cecil’s chest, the soft fabric of his awful tie cushioning his cheek. He shifted slightly, slotting his hip into the space between Cecil’s legs and winding his arms around his boyfriend’s waist for a more comfortable floor cuddling session. 

Cecil hummed and dropped a kiss on the top of his head, his arms tightening slightly. “ _Criminal_ ,” he said, laughing quietly. 

Carlos laughed, too. “ _Your_ criminal,” he said. He felt Cecil turn his head, probably looking around the room at the cascade of pens. 

“You know, we probably ought to clean all this up pretty quickly,” Cecil said. “You never know where the cameras are.” In spite of his words, he made no effort to get up, nor did he sound terribly concerned. 

“What are they going to do,” Carlos asked, enjoying the tickle of chest hair against his lips, “burst in on us and drag us away with your pants around your ankles?” 

“Yes,” Cecil said immediately, completely serious. But he tightened his embrace again and sighed in satisfaction. 

“If they haven’t yet, I’m pretty sure we’re okay. If you don’t know where the cameras are, then they’ve probably had quite a show already and will politely wait until later, when you’re fully dressed. It’s only logical.”


End file.
